Altered
by Remy-Gilmore
Summary: There is nothing like running to a place that remains unchanged to see how you yourself have altered. AU oneshot


**Disclaimer: **Again, I don't own Harry Potter. Or Superman, which is what the first line is taken from and where I got the inspiration for this fic.

**Author's Note: **Okay, okay, so this may or may not be good. I got the inspiration from watching _Superman Returns_, and I originally was going to try to make this into a long story. But I think a one-shot works out better, and my incredibly wonderful beta SuperiorityComplex88 helped me work everything out. Hopefully you guys will, too. Oh, and for those of you who couldn't tell from the first line, this is AU. :-P

"You were gone for five years, Harry. You got what you wanted by leaving—the wizarding world doesn't need a hero anymore."

Her eyes were too fierce, too distant. He knew that she was right; he had become merely a legend, something rarely talked about anymore. But by going under the radar of everyone else, it seemed as if he had ruined the one thing that had made him regret going through with Moody's plan.

"Apparently you don't, either."

She hesitated, slightly. It was a quick flash in that cool gaze, but he knew her well enough to see it. But then it was gone and she was saying, "I never really needed one. I was a young, naïve girl. I'm not anymore."

"No. Not at all."

To prove it, she turned on her stiletto-ed heel and walked away. She had left him in a position where all he could do was stare as she retreated, clad in glamorous evening wear suitable for the celebration in her honor. He thought there was irony in the fact that she was leaving him alone in the exact same way that he had left her all those years ago.

---

It was the second time in two weeks that the Burrow had been used for such an over-the-top affair. The first had, of course, been Bill's wedding to the somewhat more bearable Fleur Delacour. Now the entire household was full of energetic Weasleys and friends in an attempt to make this night one of the best for the Boy-Who-Lived. It would probably be one of the last times for awhile that he could enjoy himself.

Not that he was. She was sure that she was the only one who hadn't pretended that he would.

She had followed him up here after she had seen him sneaking off. She knew that by doing that she was doing something she had promised herself she never would—playing the part of the star-struck little girl with supposed love in her eyes. So she was reduced to being a harmful stalker once more. The universe needed to throw her a bone, after all, for dangling her childhood crush in her reach and then snatching him away when they were both finally happy.

He wasn't doing anything spectacular. Just standing near the pond, staring into the water. She didn't know what he saw, or what he was thinking about. But she wasn't sure that she wanted to know, either.

"I heard a rumor that there was this fabulous party being thrown in your honor just a few miles away," she said teasingly as she walked up behind him. "It must not be true, though. Otherwise you wouldn't be all the way over here. Where it's boring. And dark."

He didn't even acknowledge that she had come up or that she had spoken. He just continued staring.

"Harry?"

"I meant what I said. At Dumbledore's funeral?"

Of all the things that they could have talked about, he brought that up.

"You said a lot of things that day. Which one?"

He finally looked at her, and she had to stop herself from gasping. Green eyes took over her vision, and the intensity in them almost made her stumble backwards. She couldn't tell if that was a look of anger, of sadness, of anxiety…but she had a feeling it was a mixture of all three.

"That I'd wished we could have had longer together," he looked at her dead-on. No stumbling or stuttering. "Those few weeks, I needed them. If only to prove that there was still something that wasn't dark, or hopeless, or nearly impossible. I started feeling…well, I just wanted to let you know that."

"_Started feeling what!" _she wanted to scream. But he had purposely stopped himself before he could go any further. He was a stubborn man, and she was starting to feel like this wasn't the time to talk to him about anything besides Voldemort. Perhaps things really did happen for a reason.

Instead, she gently touched his arm and said, "You could have told me that anytime. You can tell me anything. I just wanted to let _you_ know that."

He looked away quickly. She thought she had seen guilt creep into his face.

"What is it?"

And suddenly she understood. She finally noticed that he had changed out of the dress robes her mother had insisted that everyone wear—"A beautiful night for a beautiful boy!"—and was casual in jeans and a t-shirt. His shoes, however, were worn and old, as if he had had them for a long time. As if he planned on walking extensively in them.

"Are you…?"

Before he could stop her, she shoved her hands in his pockets. It didn't take a lot of digging to find what she was looking for. She pulled out two bags of money, one out of each pocket. Money was less conspicuous than a pack of suitcases.

"You are," she whispered. A variety of emotions bubbled inside of her, but she decided to react the easiest way that she knew how. The way that would hurt her less when he actually told her himself. "You son of a bitch."

He hadn't expected that one. She used this moment of shock to her advantage; her next words were more of a way to distance herself from her own feelings than to hurt him.

"You're leaving! Nice timing. Did you ever think that taking your exit during my mother's going a way party for you might not be such a good idea? She put a lot of hard work into doing that for you. All she's ever done is try to help you, to make you feel like family, and you thank her like this? And what about Ron and Hermione? Your bloody friends! Weren't they planning on going with you on this journey, or whatever the hell you want to call it? How do you think they'll feel in the morning when you're gone? Without them. They won't feel like you're friends then, I can tell you that."

"You don't understand," Harry's sense of speech had finally returned.

"You must think all of us are pretty thick. You always use that excuse. Why don't you explain it to us and then give us another try, huh?"

"Just go back home, Ginny. You shouldn't have followed me in the first place," Harry sighed. Then, almost to himself, "It's not so great to have everyone around you die."

"Oh, and you think you're the only person that knows how that feels? Look around, Potter. We're in an effing _war_!" She grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her. "You don't want to feel anything for anyone without lifetime guarantees. Guess what. There's no such thing."

She was satisfied to see him breathing hard. Trying not to get angry. But her efforts proved useless when he took the bags she had taken and began to walk away. She still felt pain. Too much of it.

"I guess I just came to say goodbye, then," she threw out sarcastically to his retreating back. When she was sure he couldn't hear her, she said, "Good luck from all of us. We all love you."

When she couldn't see him anymore, she said, "_I_ love you."

---

"Maybe things aren't what you think," he shot at her.

Always determined to have the last word, she said, without looking back at him, "Maybe things are exactly what I think."

What more could he expect? He had left with the need to find something, anything, more that he could do. He had been convinced that Dumbledore was wrong; he wasn't strong or powerful enough to be a hero. When he had realized that Dumbledore wouldn't have gone through so many risks if he hadn't been certain of him, Harry had contacted Moody before anyone. Neither of them understood why, but they did understand that things might be more beneficial if everyone, including Voldemort himself, was certain that the Boy-Who-Lived was out of the picture. At least until he had found the rest of the Horcruxes.

Which he had, and he had had plenty of time to ensure his power and strength through the rigorous training periods that Moody had insisted on. Now he could finish it all.

Too bad he had pushed her away first. That was a long time ago, and he had finally realized his mistake in isolating himself at all. But she had too much Weasley in her not to hold a grudge.

_**Finis**_


End file.
